Russians bear heavy load on 'ice road to China'

A sense of desperation lurks beneath the booming import-export business in this town across the river from China

By Steve Nettleton
CNN Interactive Correspondent

Steve Nettleton has been traveling east across Russia on the Trans-Siberian Railroad. His dispatches from towns and cities along the way report on what ordinary Russians beyond Moscow and St. Petersburg are thinking and feeling during this uncertain time in their nation's history.

Svetlana, right, and Olesya just crossed back into Russia after a day in China. As "kirpichi" they make most of their money on items smuggled under their clothing, rather than on the goods in the sacks that are taxed.

BLAGOVESHCHENSK, Russia (CNN) -- Safely across customs after a day in China, Dimitry begins unpacking his load. He starts pulling off his jeans, but they hardly budge. A friend tries tugging at the legs. After a struggle, the jeans slide free, revealing an identical pair beneath them.

Dimitry fights to break free of the second pair. A third pair appear, then a fourth, then a fifth. Like a walking matrioshka doll, Dimitry peels off nine sets of jeans, five jackets and two raincoats before he reaches his last outfit: a light jogging suit.

All around, other Russians are unraveling. They walk stiff and robot-like, their heavy layers of clothing rendering their knees and elbows immobile. They strain to lift giant sacks, often resorting to shoving their load across the crowded floor.

They are "kirpichi" ("bricks"), one of the latest breeds of Russian entrepreneurs (so named because of the heavy red, green and white packs they carry). To avoid high customs fees Chinese traders hire these Russians to haul goods across the border, where the merchandise is collected by other Chinese to be sold in markets across eastern Russia.

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Russians are officially allowed to import 50 kilograms (110 pounds) a day duty-free. Keen on maintaining their tax revenues, however, customs officers in Blagoveshchensk have begun charging Russians tariffs of $50. The duty wipes out any profit the kirpichi can earn.

The only way now to make money is to stuff extra clothes under their coats, their pants, even their shoes.

"Our authorities know we are getting paid and want to squeeze extra money from us," says Svetlana, who started working as a kirpich three years ago to support her young son. "We have no social protection at all. We are pressed by the Chinese and pressed by Russian authorities. No one looks out for us."

Chinese come to hawk goods

Bags of goods brought in from China by Russian "kirpichi" are hauled to market

The hundreds of traders like Svetlana and Dimitry who daily follow this backbreaking routine reveal a sense of desperation lurking beneath the brisk import-export business that has made Blagoveshchensk a crossroads of China-Russian commerce.

Little more than a decade ago, Blagoveshchensk was almost more removed economically from China than Moscow. Though it sits just several hundred meters from China on the northern bank of the Amur River (known as the Black Dragon River to the Chinese), the city was isolated from its southern neighbor for decades by a long-simmering ideological and territorial dispute between Moscow and Beijing.

Even now, no bridge connects Blagoveshchensk with its Chinese counterpart, Heihe. When the river freezes in winter, buses and minivans crowd what has become known as the "ice road to China." In summer the vehicles make the trip on large ferries.

Things began to change in the late 1980s when China and Russia strengthened ties and opened borders.

Buses and minivans wait to cross the frozen Amur River. Ferries shuttle the vehicles across in summer. The river is dangerous in spring and fall and hovercraft are used, limiting the traffic in trade.

It started as comical barter: Russian military coats for Chinese sugar, trucks exchanged for trainloads of chewing gum, pianos traded for sports shoes and children's clothes.

In recent years the "suitcase trade" has become the norm. Crowds of kirpichi and Chinese peddlers feed tons of cheap Chinese products, one load at a time, to sprawling markets in central Blagoveshchensk, east to the commercial center of Khabarovsk, or west as far as Moscow.

Many Chinese stay for months at a time, hawking their wares in tiny stalls covered with the same red, green and white plastic that transports their cargo. The burgeoning Chinese population has taken over more than a dozen local dormitories.

"When I was young, you couldn't see any Chinese here," said Andrey Masalsky, director of a hostel named "Far East." "Now they're maybe 10 percent of the population."

Trade does not foster understanding

This bustling scene nevertheless leaves many Russians disillusioned. The goods flow north, the money flows south, they say. In the past decade residents in Blagoveshchensk have watched Heihe blossom into a modern city as their own town has slid deeper into poverty.

"The Chinese feel right at home here," grumbles a Russian woman selling fur coats in the market. "They make all the money, but they never buy anything from us. When they do buy something, they take it back to China and produce cheap imitations. Business would be better if they would leave."

The Chinese say their lives have not been any easier.

Blagoveshchensk market Click arrow to advance pictures The main market in Blagoveshchensk covers several blocks. Russian vendors are in a separate area from the Chinese stalls. CNN Interactive correspondent Steve Nettleton reports the Russian sections seemed much sadder and desperate than did the Chinese. Their stalls were half empty and most salespeople walked around with signs pinned to their chests saying, "Will exchange gold, dollars, rubles."

Chu Chinlung, a 22-year-old salesman from Heihe, has worked every day for a month at the Blagoveshchensk market, selling towels in bitter cold and a continuous snowfall. He will return to China soon, but only for the few days needed to restock and return to Russia.

Chu says he earns his living "little by little." But sales were better before the Russian economic crisis of 1998, when the value of the Russian ruble plunged. Now, he says, Russians do not spend as much money.

"Now I get enough to eat," he says. "I'm waiting for Russian holidays [Women's day, Easter], when Russians buy more."

The Russian customs tax hits all equally, other Chinese traders say.

"I don't understand who benefits from these large customs fees," says Su Li, who runs a women's clothing shop in a room in her dormitory. "When they raise the tax, fewer people can afford to trade, so they get fewer taxes. How does that help anyone?"

'The only job I can find'

In the customs lounge dozens of kirpichi are scrambling to get their goods in order. They count their heaps of lipstick, underwear, shoes and jeans, making sure they can account for their orders to the Chinese contacts who await them.

This may be the last day many of them can make the journey for awhile. As spring arrives, no more vehicles will be allowed to cross the thawing Amur.

Until summer, when large ferries can make regular crossings, only small hovercraft will shuttle between Blagoveshchensk and Heihe. That means fewer traders and smaller profits.

Tatyana, a kirpich who smuggled 17 kilograms (37 pounds) of clothes around her torso, sighs with resignation when asked why she endures the physical stress for so little pay.

"It's the only job I can find," the unemployed waitress says. "There's nothing else I can do."